Page 74 of Wrong Mail

He crosses and sits on the edge of the coffee table, facing me. He takes my hand and sighs.

"I'm so sorry, Mal," he says. "About tonight. Your birthday was ruined."

“It’s not your fault.”

"It was, partly. I let him get to me. I should have laughed it off but I didn’t.” He looks down at our hands. "I don't laugh things off well anymore. I used to be good at it."

“Is this because of what he said?” I get the sense there’s more. I can see it in his demeanor.

He shakes his head. “No. You know that was bullshit. Julia and I. That was never a thing. It’s his excuse for being a shitty boyfriend.”

"I know," I say. And I do the thing Henry told me to do without deciding to. I listen to how he says it, not what. I hate that Henry's voice is in my head, weighing my husband's words.

He’s quiet for a while. The rain fills the silence. “No, it’s more than that," he says finally.

“What is it?”

He tries to smile, and it splits his lip again, a bright bead of blood he doesn't wipe. "Helen called me at the club. Right before everything with Chris. That's what was bothering me. It's probably what made me react to him. It was just one more thing I didn't need."

"What did she want?"

He lets out a tired breath.

"There's been a complaint. Anonymous. Sent to the board." He lets go of my hand and drags his palm over his face. "It's about the man from the break-in. The one who went down the steps. The one who died."

I go still.

"There was nothing suspicious about it, Mal. He'd taken a bad hit to the head, and the bleed was severe. His body was already in terrible shape. He was never going to wake up."

I place a hand on his leg. David covers it with his.

"It's awful, but it happens. But somebody wrote to the board and said I was in the building the night he died, outside my scheduled hours, with no official reason to be there. My badge shows I was there. And given that the man had broken into our house, they think the timing should be looked at.

"The timing?"

He hears what I'm not saying.

“Listen, it's probably nothing. Complaints get filed all the time. They get looked at, they go away." He says it like he's trying to make himself believe it. "But having it happen now couldn't be worse. Not with the Division Chief post weeks away and a committee looking for a reason to pick someone else."

“But you didn’t do anything.”

“I know, but it doesn't have to be true, Mal. It just has to be there while they're deciding."

“So…you were at the hospital the night he died?"

He nods. "I was in the building. Yes."

"For work?"

"No."

"Then...why?"

He looks away. It's small, barely anything, a glance toward the window as rain batters the black glass. But I see it.

"David."

He squeezes the bridge of his nose.